As we drove way to the market place,
a great number of buyers and vendors
offered, counter-offered their goods
in a row: It was the site of
a windowless shop.
We were just curious spectators
of a scene where business was different,
the air was decadent, morning breath
to demure.
Each choice was unscented more
than just a morass of flowers.
Unaware of its intricacies,
the shop was bounded by its limit
of life.
Tomorrow, begins a new day
again to see it beautifully.
The writer will write a melody
of a song remembered awhile,
then feel it through the eyes
in the heart of an artist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem